


Talk Dirty to Me

by Cal (caltastic)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Prompt Fill, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caltastic/pseuds/Cal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan does not like Halamshiral, does not like Orlesian politics, does not like sneaking around, but does like making the Lord Commander blush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk Dirty to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kmeme. Original prompt [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13696.html?thread=52925824#t52925824).

They had only been in Halamshiral for an hour but Evelyn was ready to gnaw off her own arms in sheer frustration. She understood all of the talks about the Game that Josie and Viv had given her on an intellectual level, but here, now, actually in the moment? All of this Your Worship here and My Lady there and stupid bowing and dancing and oh, sweet Maker, the waiting, all of the _waiting_ was killing her. 

She couldn't just barge up to the Empress and demand she surrender herself to the Inquisition's protection -- or just end her and put Gaspard in charge, for that matter; she was flexible on that -- and she knew that, she really did, but knowing that and being able to deal with all of the ridiculous posturing it required to ferret out truth from lies in this farcical business was absolutely killing her.

But not, she reflected with slowly escalating irritation, as much as watching Cullen allow himself to be cornered in the ballroom was killing her.

He'd told her he'd planned on being polite and remote; he and Josie had worked out something where his Abashed Farmboy Made Good smile could be deployed to devastating effect and allow him to play the Game without actually playing it ('always know your limitations,' he'd said, 'so that only you have the opportunity to exploit them') and it was obviously working. He'd been surrounded by a crowd of courtiers since they'd arrived, and the throng showed no signs of thinning, and -- and Evelyn wanted to scream.

Their time together had been frustratingly short with nothing but stolen moments to sustain them, and here he was, laughing and smiling while these vapid Orlesians draped themselves all over him and she didn't even have the benefit of flirting herself to take her mind off the fact that she was still here in this stupid ballroom while the stupid Empress was about to get herself stupid killed and Cullen, _her_ Cullen, was getting petted by half a dozen people named after breakfast foods, like Lady Beignet or Comte L'Oeuf. Oh, she was getting her share of compliments, of course -- she was An Important Person, so it was part of the Game -- but it was still all peppered through with obnoxious Your Worships and it certainly wasn't any _fun_.

It didn't help that Cullen looked positively stunning in the formalwear that Josie had provided for them. Evelyn's jaw clenched as she watched him turn his head to murmur something polite to one of the serpenstone-masked ladies, the firelight glinting off his hair to cast his profile in amber. He looked up and caught Evie's eyes just in that moment, the scarred corner of his mouth quirking up in that smug smirk she loved so much, that expression that promised the sort of mischief that made her heart flip over in her chest. And then, the final straw: a bit of wine left on his lip, his tongue snaked out to catch it, and suddenly she was on fire.

 _To the Maker with that,_ she thought, and pushed off the wall, striding through the crowd like a breaking wave. "Oh, please do excuse me," Evelyn said with syrupy sweetness, and tried not to grit her teeth with how much she would like to be holding a weapon right now and how she could sweep it around and _beat these people with it_. "I must borrow the Commander for a moment regarding an urgent matter." 

His expression clouded, eyebrows furrowing. "Urgent, my lady Inquisitor?" 

"With me, please," she said in her best Lady Trevelyan voice, and strode away through the ballroom and toward the vestibule. 

Cullen caught up without looking like he was hurrying, but his expression remained concerned. "Evelyn?" he said in a low voice, and she couldn't entirely suppress a shudder at the particular note in his tone. "Is everything all right?"

She strode purposefully down the stairs and around the corner; she stopped in the dimly-lit back stairwell so abruptly that Cullen almost stumbled up against her, his hand on her shoulder to recover his balance on the marble floor. Evelyn spun to face him, her eyes flashing. "So, you've gathered quite the circle of admirers, Commander."

There was a brief moment of stunned silence, then Cullen barked out a surprised laugh. "Evie, surely you aren't _jealous._ " He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, that slow grin that undid her every time curling out at her again. "They keep asking questions about my lineage, for Maker's sake. It's ridiculous."

"No! Not jealous," Evelyn said, fisting her hands into his starchy formal jacket, her fingers flexing as she took a deep breath. "Frustrated. Random strangers can run their hands all over you in public, but I have to sneak around." She looked up at him with her own twisted grin and stepped closer, pressing him against the shadowed wall. "It's taking every ounce of my considerable self-control to keep from tearing all your clothes off right now."

Cullen licked his lips, and Evelyn groaned. "Well, you shouldn't _tear_ them," he said after a momentary pause to clear his throat; his ears were reddening. "Josephine would be terribly disappointed." 

She laughed low in her throat and disentangled one hand from his jacket to run her fingers through his hair. "What if I promised to be careful of your seams? Surely then there could be no objection to my having my wicked way with you."

She felt his breath catch, and after this throat-clearing his voice came out in that gravelly baritone that invariably sent her knees to water. "And what way would that be, exactly?"

Evelyn looked up and met his eyes, but surprise soon gave way to understanding and she arched herself forward to run the tip of her tongue over his earlobe. "Why, Ser Rutherford," she murmured into his ear. "Are you asking me what I think about when I touch myself?"

The hollow thump of his head falling against the wall told her everything she needed to know, but Cullen made himself entirely clear when he grabbed her hips and pulled her against him. Evelyn pressed her knee between his thighs against the wall and undulated along the length of him, watching his pupils flare with desire. "It's been nothing but you for months now -- every time I slide my fingers against my skin it's your hands I'm thinking of." His breath stuttered. "Sometimes your tongue." With that, it stopped entirely.

She dropped her hands to his waist, running her fingers along the top of his belt while she murmured more scalding-honey words into his ear. "Do you think about that, too? About licking me until I come apart on your tongue, while you drive your fingers in and out?" Evelyn slid her palm around to stroke against his burgeoning hardness, and Cullen's eyes fluttered closed on a quiet groan.

"Maker's breath, Evie," Cullen writhed against her questing hands carefully, painstakingly unlacing the top of his trousers. "We're in the middle of a court ball."

"Does that mean you want me to stop?" Evelyn stilled her hands, resting just inside the placket of his trousers. "I could just _talk_ about how much I think about stroking your cock, if you'd rather. About my palm on your smooth, hard skin, my fingertips tracing your shape while you shudder beneath me."

His hips bucked against her of their own accord and he groaned, low and throaty. "Maker's _breath,_ " Cullen said again, screwing his eyes closed tight. "No, don't stop," he said after a deep, shaky breath. "Please."

Evelyn rewarded him by closing her fingers around his length, tickling over him with maddening gentleness. She licked a trail up the side of his neck, her lips returning to his ear as he grew harder under her touch, his hands opening and closing in convulsions at her waist. "Every time we're in war council I think about you bending me over that table." Her grip was stronger, surer; she ran her thumb over the tip of his erection and Cullen stifled another desperate groan. "Your weight behind me, pressing me down while you spread me open and pound into me so hard it shakes all your neat little markers onto the floor."

His breath came out in harsh rasps, his hands frantically running over her hips and backside to keep her pressed close as he ground himself into her stroking hand. His eyes slitted open, lids still hooded and heavy, and met hers. "Evie, I can't take much more of this." 

"Probably not," she said, and there was a pleased smirk in her voice. "We can't have the Commander going back to the ballroom with mussed breeches, can we?" Cullen started to respond, but she interrupted him with her teeth on his ear. "I'll just have to take you in my mouth." She laved kisses along his jaw, tracing his scar with her tongue. "I bet you'd like it if I presented myself to the Empress with your spend on my breath."

His eyes snapped fully open at that, but left him unable to form coherent words. Delighted by her effect on him, she slid down his body and sank to her knees, and he watched with a riveted expression as Evelyn pulled his trousers open and down over his hips. This was a much more dangerous game, she knew; using just her hand they could have pulled apart if they were discovered, angled just so in the shadows -- but there was no possible explanation for the Inquisitor on her knees other than the truth. Even so, she couldn't resist the look in his eyes as she circled the tip of her tongue around the head and then slid her mouth over his length.

Cullen rested one hand on her head, gentle enough to avoid mussing her hair too terribly, and the other flat on the wall behind him as if to hold himself upright. She pumped up and down on him, hollow-cheeked and tongue swirling, forgoing finesse in favor of speed. He was thin-lipped with the effort to stay silent, only his stiffening muscles and clenching fingers in her hair letting her know he neared the peak.

His breath caught, stuttered, held as he spent himself in her mouth with a low, barely audible moan that he couldn't quite contain, leaving him breathless as she swallowed, her eyes just as bright. 

She rose lithely to her feet and set about putting them both to rights while Cullen struggled to control his breathing and racing heart. "There," she said, delicately tucking him back into his trousers, and quick fingers relaced the placket and pulled down his jacket. All tidied, Evelyn stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. "Now I feel like I'm ready to save the empire. Thank you, Commander! Your strategic acumen always improves my morale." 

She turned to go and made it up all of one step before Cullen grabbed her arm to stop her. "Inquisitor," he said, with a dark note in his voice. "You are going to survive this, and you are going to win, because when we get back to Skyhold I am going to bend you over every horizontal surface we can find. That is a _vow._ "

The glint in his eyes made Evelyn grin like sunrise. "I look forward to it, Commander."


End file.
